Category: Good Works

I found a small urn today
   it held the conversations which
for you
   fell from my mouth like riddles

The story of my disappointment carries the
   weight of broken doors
and YOU?
   You wait on the other side
All conflict aside
   All affection left at the doorstep
Was that what it WAS all for?

You were never there, never there
   I searched for a tract, for even the smell
of where you had been
   Finding instead
      the anger in me in me

I have never shown this poem to anyone else. It was written 12 or more years ago, but its fury still takes my breath. I am only sharing it with you because of the astounding bravery of others who have written so eloquently during ManWeek. In fact, it was Age Conte’s post this morning that tipped me over the edge.

Obviously the relationship with my father is nothing like what I have read in the posts of others this week. In fact, it is non-existent. We have not spoken for a decade – and I can honestly say, now, that I am not bitter about this. In fact, it was a conscious decision on my part.

And while we often hear about the importance of fathers and the often difficult relationship that men have with their dads, I can also tell you that they do not define the person you become (unless you allow it to). Now I am not saying that my own father was a bad man – but perhaps he was just a man, with all the attendant weaknesses, honours, fears and hopes that we are all prone to. Perhaps he wasn’t the father that I wanted, but like Age, in my dad I did learn “everything about what my journey to manhood has to involve”.

And this is the point. It is MY journey. No one can do this for me. No one can take away the pain or embarrassment or own the joy and excitement that comes our way. The best we can do is the best that we can do. And the worst we must learn to live with – and maybe, just maybe, forgive.

Participating in ManWeek has been both confronting and humbling. It is far harder to do than you might imagine. And while this #ManWeek campaign appears to be an echo chamber, think for a moment about what you can do to change that situation – how you can extend or continue the conversation, open it to those men who need to hear/read these stories. And if you want inspiration, check Mark Pollard’s site for a list of great posts. Check also Harry O’Brien’s article.

But at the end of the day, if any of this has helped just one person, then that is reward enough.

There have been some great ManWeek posts. Julian Cole and Matt Hazel both wrote about bullying – each with different perspectives. Matt Moore looked at how men can be uncomfortable with their own sense of self and Benjamin Law shared his love of Mariah Carey. Stan Johnson told us about the way he disappointed his parents with his career choice (advertising) – and who can blame them 😉 And Craig Wilson skirted the question but still managed to provide some interesting thoughts on men and the media.

But it is Mark Pollard who calls us all out with a searingly honest post about some of the reasons why men find it so hard to talk about themselves:

Just to be clear, I don’t write about this stuff for sympathy or to put myself out there as this sensitive guy. I write about it hoping someone will relate to it – and not feel alone.

And, for me, this is where two aspects of manhood collide – courage and responsibility.

Now, I have always been “responsible”. Ever since I can remember I have been reliable – I cared for my younger brother and sister, I looked out for my cousins when they came to my tough high school (who am I kidding – they were bigger than me), I stayed sober and drove my friends home when they had too much to drink and I am always willing to share my time, experience and thinking with friends.

But I haven’t always been courageous.

If I am honest, this overarching sense of responsibility created an inner vortex of intensity that would very rarely erupt. I used to fantasize about what might happen should this personal fury ever slip past the guardians of my iron will.

Now, I have never been an imposing figure, physically. I was so short when I started high school that I had to jump to pull the chord in the bus that signalled the driver to stop. And while I loved team sport, I soon learned that size mattered on the field – and even the most enthusiastic player gets tired of being thrown around like a rag doll. My great asset was my quick wit, smart mouth and an ability to sail close to the wind – to walk a fine line between being funny and being offensive. But this always meant keeping control.

Now, this didn’t mean that I escaped being bullied. Far from it. But one of the things that I learned is that violence escalates when words fail. Mark Pollard calls this “Testosterone and the Neanderthal”. But violence doesn’t have to be physical. No matter whether you back a person into a corner by words or physicality, if there is no escape then there can only be violence.

The moments of my greatest shame have occurred when I did not have the courage NOT to speak – where I fell back upon my inner fury and directed it outward. But there are no “winners” when it comes to violence – and there is no pleasure that comes from belittling another and certainly no glory. It is, however, EASIER. It is easier to be cruel and cutting – to appear in control – but it is much harder (for men, though I have no doubt also for women) to be generous, inclusive, forgiving.

I constantly strive to live my life generously – and it is a struggle. It is easier not to witness the small injustices of daily life than to courageously respond to them with humanity and with care. It’s easier to state your opinion than to ask where you can help or how you can serve. And it’s easier to claim mastery than to be respected. But for me, this is what it is all about.

Tagging update: Let's take it out of the comments and see what Gordon Whitehead, Stephen Collins and Alan Jones have to say on the topic of ManWeek.

The ManWeek coverage continue today with bold discussions of sexuality, gender and its link with our sense of manhood. The producer of Triple J’s Hack kicked off the forum discussion with some interesting thought starters plucked from the show:

"People that r presumptuous about your sexuality r idiots & suk like alfa males!"

"Physicaly i might be classified as an alpha male 6 foot 4 fit and play soccer but i play video games, have never had a girl friend dont drink and don’t get involvet in fisty cuffs. I’m cool with who I am even if people think i’m a nerd."

"Im a 21 yr old diesel fitter in a straigh relationship. My best friend is a girl. Y shuld i feel unmanly because of that?"

"I’ve had a few boyfriends that most people think are gay. Softer more emotional guys make way better boyfriends than alpha males! Jo"

Throughout my teens and well into my 20s I would find myself often being invited out by gay men. Sometimes it could be embarrassing, but most of the time it made me smile – especially when the approach was inventive. I don’t really know what the source of this attraction was … perhaps it was the pony tail. Or my soft, sexy voice. Or the fact I studied drama. Maybe I just looked a little fluffy.

But while this attention didn’t bother me – close friends found it confronting. Some later admitted that they were gay but had not yet become comfortable with their sexuality. Others felt that gay sexuality was being flaunted in their faces. And while there is an intensity in all this – I also found there was an easy pleasure in the company of men – whether gay or straight. And it was by looking beyond the issues of sexuality that I found the bonds of friendship.

And you know what? One of the best nights of my life was at a school disco where I dressed up as Boy George (hey, it was the 80s). I never had so many girls dance with me … ever.

And speaking of the 80s … Gavin Costello has written a great ManWeek post on growing up in the 80s; while Matt Moore talks about becoming a father.

Tagging update: And now I’d love to hear a ManWeek tale from Stan Johnson, Jye Smith and Tim Longhurst.

The body in motion is not without pain.

Arms gasping.

  Eyeballs askew

At the end of my sinews

  Blood bleaches like fingernails.

The dead protein of my love for you

  splices thoughts, memories

     Lips in the wind.

And all around me, the loving audience

  bleating my name

Calling, calling

  For the same loss that engulfs

Every whispered word.

—–

The transition into adulthood is fraught with emotion and unbound intensities. It is a time of testing – we pit ourselves against the world, against each other and we emerge scarred, occasionally beautiful and sometimes damaged. But what shape do our scars take and what is their legacy? What of those who do not successfully shed their battle worn skins?

Unfortunately, many young men don’t make the transition in one piece. The complications of life, unexpected responsibilities, depression and anxiety can all play a part – where we increasingly find ourselves isolated, set apart, on the edge.

I wrote this poem many years ago. And while it seems as though I am listening to forgotten whispers, the emotional impact still claws my chest. Poetry was an outlet for me. It was a connection with an unimagined audience.

But every poem brought me closer to someone. I would be “caught” writing. I would ask friends for advice on the poems, or ideas on their construction – all the while realising it was a thinly disguised call for help.

These days, young men continue to find themselves in situations which feel insurmountable – resulting in higher than average rates of drug and alcohol dependence. Furthermore, rates of suicide are through the roof and young men are three times more likely to develop schizophrenia than young women.

But thanks to sites like ReachOut, you no longer need to suffer in silence (or resort to poetry). This week, the ManWeek campaign kicks off – and you can tune in to Triple J to listen to the experiences of young men across the country – from the Alpha Male to the Mummy’s Boy and everywhere in-between, ManWeek will show that your story is just as valid – and just as common – as other young men who are trying to find ways of dealing with life.

Let’s face it, it doesn’t just take balls and bravado to be a man these days. Sometimes it means coming to grips with your family, acknowledging that your Dad isn’t a rolling stone, and that dysfunction can be just as beautiful as any other way of life. The important part is to begin reaching out – communicating and sharing how you feel. It’s not easy. But it’s not as hard as you might think (and you can always leave a comment here). You can also share your experiences at the ReachOut blog or on the forum (yeah you need to register).

If you happen to be awake early, you can tune in for the Triple J Breakfast show; and if you have a Twitter account you can join in with the hash tag #manweek. Talk to me, I am @servantofchaos.

Tagging update: Every man must have a story – but what is yours? I am particularly interested in hearing the tales of Zac Martin, Craig Wilson and Frank Sting.